What Kisses Are Made Of
by shyath
Summary: Femslash. Quinn/Santana. It is all about kisses.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee. Seriously.

**A/N:** Written for ladydreamer for femslash10.

**A/N2:** Thanks to Zangy for looking this over. You're a lifesaver.

**A/N3:** It's my first time writing Glee, so I hope I did it justice.

**A/N4: **As always, comment to let me know what you think about this fic. Cheers!

* * *

It had been the first time Quinn Fabray had sneaked out at night. She could not recall too much of what happened, but she could at least recount the thrill, the fear, the excitement and the wide-eyed, white-hot realization that this was a mistake, very much a mistake, but she was still going to go and do this anyway.

The rest of the night had been a long blur. She could not remember much of the names or the faces, but she could remember the way the somewhat pretentious gloom of the nightclub was pierced by random rays of pulsing light, how the unhealthy loudness of contemporary music was punctuated and broken through only by the painful pounding of her heart. It was the first time she became conscious of how truly self-absorbed she was.

She remembered the permeating taste of alcohol on her lips, the pervasive stench of smoke in the folds of her clothes and on the surface of her damp skin. She remembered the lingering burn in the back of her throat, the base of her stomach and she remembered she had giggled as she wondered idly if her parents would be able to smell wickedness on her when she eventually came home.

What she remembered the most vividly of that night, what she had secretly committed to mind (the kind one did to be replayed over and over again in moments of weakness and farfetched daydreams, in unrestrained fantasies amidst the hollow sounds telling of an empty house and absent parents), however, was the way Santana Lopez had _looked_ at her. The way she had touched her with something approaching the midpoint between rough and gentle. The way she had smirked triumphantly and moved just a few inches away when Quinn's breathing turned short and harsh. Quinn's knees had buckled and she would have fallen were it not for the arms Santana still had protectively looped around her waist.

Finally, finally, Quinn recollected of coming home in a daze, wrapped in a thick scent of alcohol and smoke and lust ("Sinner!" her parents had simultaneously proclaimed when they had the door closed and the curtains drawn), Santana on her mind and coursing forcefully through her veins, her first kiss still stinging her smudged, swollen lips and dictating the erratic tattoo of her heart.

* * *

"You okay, Quinn?" whispered a very familiar voice in her ear the following day.

Quinn jumped in her seat and took a moment to compose herself before discreetly turning around to face Santana. "I'm just fine. _Of course_. But why wouldn't I be?" she asked in a challenging tone while she kept an eye on the teacher.

Santana smiled and shrugged back at Quinn. "I was just asking." She winked at the blonde and then settled back in her chair with the languid grace of a cat that Quinn had always associated with Santana.

Quinn frowned, fought the inexplicable urge to pout and stomp her foot before finally shifting her now wandering attention back to English with a peeved toss of her ponytail in Santana's general direction. _What was that all about?_ Quinn mused with a touch of nerves, the heat and weight of Santana's gaze on the back of her head throughout the rest of the class.

* * *

"Chocolate," Santana declared without warning in the middle of lunch.

Brittany and Quinn looked up from their respective lunches, staring at Santana like she had lost her mind. Maybe she finally had. Maybe she had had just one too many of Coach Sylvester's infamous diet drinks. Those drinks were so lethal, they really should be registered and classified as weapons.

"Chocolate," Santana repeated, this time holding Quinn's gaze meaningfully.

Quinn eyed Santana warily. "I'm sorry?" Her voice was a little too prim even for her standard. Well, at least Brittany would not notice and Santana - well, after what happened, Quinn should have a free pass or something to do whatever she wanted, right? Right.

"I don't see any chocolate," Brittany stated the obvious, looking at each of their lunches.

"Not what I meant, Brittany," Santana told Brittany indulgently without taking her eyes off of Quinn. "I meant Quinn's lip gloss. It's chocolate. Its flavour, I meant. Isn't it, Quinn?"

Quinn blushed lightly. Brittany looked confused, but Quinn supposed she always did anyway - adorably confused, that was, but confused nonetheless. "No," she responded through gritted teeth as she savagely speared a baby carrot.

"Oh, but I'm pretty sure it is." Santana licked her lips. "Or was," she practically purred as her eyes dropped suggestively to Quinn's lips.

Quinn's nostrils flared and she glared at Santana.

"So what?" Brittany said. "It's just lip gloss," she said with a careless shrug.

"Yes, Brittany's right. It's just lip gloss, Santana. What does it matter?" Quinn said with a stiff smile. _Just drop it, please._

"You should show me where you bought it," Santana decided in an overly sweet tone.

Quinn frowned again and she had to consciously relax her facial muscles. It would not do to exercise those too much. "It's the same place where you buys yours, Santana. But you know that, don't you?"

Santana's smile did not waver. "Oh, I know, but what if I needed … advice?"

"Can't Brittany go with you instead?" Quinn suggested reasonably.

"Oh, but Brittany can't, can you, Brit? She has to … babysit her sister, right?"

Quinn's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Really now?"

"Oh, I don't know. Santana remembers my chores for me, so I guess I do have to babysit today," Brittany answered.

Quinn spoke slowly, "Brittany, I think Santana's just -"

"Being very, _very_ helpful. Right, Brit?" Without waiting for a response from Brittany, Santana levelled another question at Quinn, "What will it be then, Quinn?"

"_Fine_. I'll come along to offer advice about lip gloss," Quinn hissed.

"Excellent," Santana replied cheerfully.

* * *

Quinn had waited until the library was practically empty before coming in. She had gone to the very back to wait for Santana, as per the brunette's 'order'. Now, where was Santana? Quinn was starting to think this was a really, really bad idea. Not that it had stopped her from sneaking out the previous night on Santana's suggestion. Come to think of it, everything that had turned into a mistake recently was all Santana's fault, right? Of course it was –

"Did you miss me?" Santana's taunting voice interrupted Quinn's mental monologue.

Quinn turned around with a start. "Sweet Je -"

"Nope, just me. Fortunately too, if I do say so myself," Santana answered with a cheeky smile. "Seriously though, did you miss me?"

"No," Quinn growled. "Why are you doing this?" Quinn demanded, crossing her arms over chest in an illusion of protection.

"This?"

"Yes, this. Teasing me, taunting me. Why?"

Santana shrugged. "I didn't realise there needs to be a reason."

"There is a reason for everything!"

Santana shrugged again. "You're pretty. No, you're beautiful. Very attractive." Santana paused and looked over at Quinn thoughtfully. She had not yet closed the distance and Quinn clawed for some profound meaning in that. "You were especially hot yesterday. Very, very sexy. And I wanted to kiss you. So I did."

Quinn felt an unexpected pang of disappointment at that. "That's it? It's just that simple?"

Santana looked hesitant. "Yes?"

Quinn's shoulders dropped and she felt, to her intense mortification, her bottom lip trembling. "Okay."

"Quinn … That kiss, it – it couldn't have been your first, could it?"

"Of course not!"

"God, it was, wasn't it?" There was something in Santana's voice, something that sounded like pity – or, perhaps, excitement – and Quinn grew increasingly miserable.

"No," Quinn repeated a little weakly. "Of course not."

"Quinn, oh God, I -"

"I have to go," Quinn announced abruptly, heading straight for the exit without sparing Santana a look, her heart hammering in that thunderous way that signalled its breaking.

* * *

_God, what was I expecting? A declaration of undying love? Of course not. This is Santana. Santana Lopez doesn't do forever. God, I am _so_ stupid. Stupid. Stupid Quinn. Stupid Santana. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!_

Quinn rolled over in bed, her makeup scrubbed clean from her face, her eyes puffy from crying and her hair a mess around her head. She felt horrible. She felt like – like – like she was not Quinn Fabray. _God_. She closed her eyes. She could still feel Santana on her lips. The heat of her cheek as it brushed against hers. The tickle of her lashes on her skin. _God_.

"Quinn dear!" Mrs Fabray called up.

"Y-yes, mum?" Quinn called back as she immediately sat up. She could hear her mother's footsteps getting closer and closer.

"Santana's on the phone," her mother informed as she opened Quinn's bedroom door.

"Tell her I'm not here," Quinn begged, turning to bury her face in her pillow. Again. _How pitiful_.

Her mother looked concerned, but she turned around and made excuses for her youngest daughter. "Quinn," her mother whispered after a minute.

"What?" she mumbled, the pout evident in her voice.

"She said she's on her way."

"What? No, no, she can't be!"

"Well, she can and -"

The doorbell rang shrilly.

Quinn closed her eyes. "Oh God, this _cannot_ be happening."

"Just talk to her. I'm sure you girls will be able to work it out."

"_Mom_," Quinn whined.

"Quinn, you have better manners than that."

"Fine," Quinn grumbled petulantly.

* * *

"So," Santana started, finally breaking the stretch of awkward silence.

Quinn scowled at the brunette.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Santana continued with a rare display of sincerity.

"For what?"

"For stealing your first kiss."

"I-I'm not mad because of that." Quinn blushed furiously with that admission.

"You aren't?" Santana looked surprised. "I thought -"

"No," Quinn intervened. "I – you didn't mean anything by it. _That's_ why I'm mad." Well, since she was on a roll, as it would seem, she might as well spill everything.

"But I did!"

"No, you didn't. You said so yourself."

"Okay, maybe I'm not very good with this romance thing … but just because my reason for kissing you was because I found you wildly attractive, you think I didn't mean anything by it?" Santana enquired with an incredulous expression.

"Yes?"

"Quinn. I don't – I don't make a habit of kissing _everyone_, you know!"

"You don't?"

"Okay, maybe my track record disproves that, but you _aren't_ everyone. You're Quinn, you're my friend and you just don't kiss your friends for no reason. _I_ kissed _you_ for a reason, Quinn. And hey, maybe that reason isn't as good as the ones you see on romances or cheap chick flicks, but I know how I felt, I know who I wanted and I went for it. Now, I can't promise this will lead anywhere, but if you'd give me a chance, I think -"

"Santana?"

"Huh?"

"Kiss me."

"_Huh?_"

Quinn giggled. "Kiss me. Please."

Santana smiled that cocky smile of hers very, very slowly. Quinn's heart was racing quickly enough to hurt her. Santana did not say 'my pleasure' or 'your wish is my command' – the way Quinn had always imagined her kisses to be. "Okay." She simply said the one word, but the kiss she pressed against Quinn's lips – with its aftertaste of spices and Santana – spoke a thousand words. "Can I kiss you again?" she asked gently once they had pulled apart.

"Again and again," Quinn whispered back.

Santana's wide grin was infectious and their next kiss was interspersed with giggles and chuckles and outright laughter, but Quinn supposed this was a lot better than how she had imagined kisses would be.


End file.
